Ominously
by Romantina
Summary: Sherlock has been dead for a month and it is time for John to let go of the past. But could he...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Remember Irene? You should. She was the only woman that ever outsmarted you. Not that you complained much", John smirked while scrolling down the blog post where he described her case.

"And the cabbie? Our first adventure together. It is very special to me", he added, rereading the "A Study in Pink" post.

"But my personal favourite is the one with Henry Knight. Our case away from London. Two friends having the time of their lives in the countryside, solving mysteries. I had never felt happier", said John dreamily, turning his head to the armchair next to him. The empty armchair. Where his friend will never sit ever again…

John covered his face with his palms and tried to suffocate the growing pain. He closed the laptop and stood up, shivering, his shoulders twitching from the waves of grief. Once again, for the hundredth time over the past month, he started wandering around the empty apartment, every corner of which kept memories of his happy life with him. Here he is in the kitchen, once full of test-tubes, syringes, highly toxic chemicals, human organs in the fridge… He smiled fondly at these dear pictures from the past. John still lived that life. He was expecting any second Sherlock to come in, covered with blood, with a severed head under his arm and order him with a bored voice "Pluck the eyes out and store them in the microwave, will you? I want to examine the irises after dinner. And put the head in the fridge. Or no, I's rather have it in my room. Let's see how long it will take for the hair to stop growing…" John felt he would offer himself for experiments if only Sherlock would come back.

But there is no coming back and he knew it. Not for him, or his friend, or their mutual friends, or anyone else. Sherlock was dead and buried. For John since the funeral the time had frozen. People carried on with their lives but how could he? Before Sherlock, he barely existed. When he met him, he felt his life had purpose – to be the closes person in his life. Sherlock made him feel alive.

He took a deep breath and looked around. Every item in the room had his name on it. Even in the quietest moments when Sherlock wouldn't speak for hour, hell, for days, John could hear the restlessness of his thoughts, the anxiety in his blood. Without doing a thing, he could bring so much energy about simply by his presence. And that now isn't even absence. It was void. John noticed the specs of dust dancing in the light. It was just like them running when on a case, walking around confused searching for answers.

John had to leave before he could lose his mind. He made an effort to get up and took his cane. He had started limping again but he didn't worry about it. He could support the weakness of the body but not the one of the heart.

He was walking slowly with a head down, lost in his thought. He heard the rolling of wheels, then the brisk pacing of a person in a hurry, a man, and then he brushed swiftly by him. John looked up. In front of him a toll man with a curly black hair was walking, having a small pink suitcase in tow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

John froze He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling into sludge and his pulse pumping with the power of bullet shots. The man kept walking in front of him, threatening to disappear any minute in the distance. The thought of missing him out was unbearable.

"SHERLOCK! Sherlock, wait! Sherl..."

John had managed to catch up with the mysterious stranger despite the burning pain in his leg. The illusory aches caused by his psychosomatic trauma have recently kicked in again. His hands held the stranger tightly by the sleeve while he was trying to catch his breath.

"Can I help you at all, sir?"

The stranger wasn't Sherlock. He didn't look even remotely like him. The figure, the clothes, the height and the hair bared some pale resemblance but not a single thing of a defining importance did. A pair of glasses was crowning his small nose. His dark eyes were peering behind them. His lips, pressed tightly together, implied his irritated thoughts towards John.

"I'm…terribly sorry. I took you for someone I…"

John couldn't continue. For a split of a second his disappointment soothed the physical pain only to immediately increase the one in his heart.

"I am sorry but I don't know you. You should try to find your friend somewhere else."

With that said, the stranger vanished into the nearest underpass.

The voices if three young boys passing by him and particularly the word "loser" shook John off his stupor. Judging by the concerned looks of a few people staring at him, he realised he had stayed there for a while, abandoned and doleful. He felt the pain in his leg kicking in once again.

"Somewhere else…", he thought, "What I wouldn't give to know where that is."

And so he turned round, putting enormously painful efforts in the simple act of walking.


End file.
